If Life Can Go On, I Should Probably Move Forward
by sweetiepie1019
Summary: DH SPOILERS! The war has been over for years, but George is unable to move on. Then he meets a young girl with blue hair who kisses him practically upon sight, and everything changes. ON PERMANENT HIATUS
1. Invisible Monsters

AN: So this is my story about George after the war. I'm covering Harry/Ginny and Ron/Hermione, so this is really the one place left that J.K. left in a very disappointingly open place. I have a bunch of fics to finish, so I'm not sure how often I'll get to update this, as I want to be sure I write it just the way I want it to go. Please review. This is my new fanfic baby, and it needs lots of love to grow.

Disclaimer: If I owned HP, Fred would be alive and Malfoy would be dead. You've read the 7th book. Draw your own conclusions.

The inside of the joke shop was quiet. There were only the slight noises from the Pygmy Puffs and the whizzes and tiny bangs from some of the rowdier products. During the day, it bright and vibrant. Kids walked through, laughing and pointing at the signs – You-No-Poo, Extra Strength Oderizer, Disappearing Snitches – and buying nearly everything they saw. Ministry officials came through the front of the store, looking uncomfortable, to reach the back and examine the newest in Dark Arts protection. It was a place of loud whirrs and strange smells and intoxicating possibilities, and a regular stop for just about anyone passing through Diagon Alley.

Now, however, there was a grey silence about the place. It was so defined that George could hear the breaths coming out of his nose and the creak of his chair whenever he moved the slightest bit. It was far past midnight, but George hadn't even considered going to sleep.

Making a note with the quick scratch of his quill, he added another ingredient to the potion in front of him. A purple mushroom clouded over the caldron, turning his hair purple where it hit him. George bent down to examine the hair on his arm. "Interesting," he murmured, and made a few more short notes in his journal. He poked his arm with his wand a few times; the forth time, the hairs melted back to their usual light orange. He raised his hand to do the same to his hair, but thought the better of it and set his hand back down.

Sighing, he flipped a few pages back to be sure he hadn't missed anything. His eyebrows furrowed as he attempted to read the tiny, cramped writing, the result of little sleep and a lot of frustration. Absentmindedly, he scratched the left side of his head with the tip of his wand; it dipped in and out of the grooves of the patch of skin covering the place where his ear should have been. He looked from the book to the caldron, then poked it with his wand, muttering madly under his breath. The potion bubbled then turned a bright shade of pink. George grinned triumphantly, then scribbled a few incantations on a blank page.

Yawning, he twisted his torso so as to be able to check the clock on the wall behind him. Noticing for the first time that he had to be awake in four hours, he hurriedly waved his wand over the desk he was working on. The potion vanished and reappeared in a flask in the cupboard right beside the desk; the caldron flew over to the sink and began to busily wash itself; the journal floated gently to the open drawer of his bedside table and landed gracefully. He yawned again, then stood up to head for his bed and possibly to get some sleep.

"George." His head turned towards his fireplace. Green flames had suddenly leapt out the wood. In the middle of them was a head with dreadlocks spouting from inch of the top. "George, I found the missing ingredient. It's ..."

"Kneazle spleen, I know," George replied hazily, holding back yet another yawn.

"How did you figure it out before me?" Lee asked, his lip sticking out slightly in a pout of disappointment. "And why is your hair purple?"

George smiled, or attempted to do so; only one side of his mouth actually managed to come upwards. "Stories are for the morning, mate. And don't you think I look fetching? Purple is all the rage, after all."

"You need sleep badly, don't you?" Lee asked, grinning. "Alright, I'll come back tomorrow. Though I should point out, blue is much more your color." With a crack, Lee's head was gone, and the flames blew out, leaving no trace they had ever been there.

George stumbled to his bed, still wearing his purple staff robes. He was out as before his head made it to the pillow.

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"Ok, that's it ... now pull on the end."

Kingsley did as George instructed, pulling the nib of the quill in his hand. Instantly, the feather lengthened into finely bound twigs; the stem stretched and widened, becoming brown, shiny, and solid. In less than two seconds, the beat-up quill had turned into a beautiful mahogany broomstick. One eyebrow rose slowly as Kingsley gazed down at the newly-appeared broom. For the Minister, it was a good show of surprise. "As always, I am impressed, George," he said in his slow base.

George gave his strange half-smile in response. "Of course. I give you nothing but the best, Royal. I wouldn't still be making this rubbish for the ministry if you and Harry didn't still work there. It's not like anyone else buys this, what Voldemort gone and all."

Kingsley laughed his rumbling laugh. "You're one of the few people who still talk to me that way, Rapier. I always have to find an excuse to be the one to come and examine your newest invention."

"Glad to be of disrespectful service, as always," George replied, bowing so much that his nose nearly touched the floor. "Now, give the end of that handle a twist."

Kinsley did as directed. The broom shrunk rapidly back into a banged-up quill. The Minister nodded, pleased. "I'll send someone to talk numbers." He hesitated, then spoke again. "You're about to be invited to a dinner at the Ministry, George. Just thought that you should know before someone else sprung it on you."

George rolled his eyes. "I don't do dinners, and I don't do anything at the Ministry. This is work for old friends. That's all."

Kingsley sighed. "I tried to tell those in charge of the event precisely that. Your name is still on the guest list. Apparently, we are indebted to your service towards the Ministry, and we must make some show of gratitude. Lee sends a message. He says that you had better come, because Katie has already made him promise."

George shrugged. "Tears and beers for him, then, isn't it? Make my excuses polite, if you want, but I won't go to the Ministry."

"In that case, Lee says he's having an engagement party next Saturday, and that you had better show to that instead," Kingsley said, a trace of a smile on his face. "I can't say I'm surprised. It will be a lot less interesting without you."

"Everything is, Royal," George said matter-of-factly. "Just send the wizard over to talk about the flying quills sometime this week."

George walked Kingsley out of his store, shook his hand and wished him the best. Face impassive as always, he wandered through the grinning children to his backroom. Just as he was about to entire the stocking area, he heard the hushed voices of two of his employees from the shelves to his right. He heard his name and stopped for a moment.

"... sure, he's attractive. I'm always trying to get him to come have a drink up at the Leaky Caldron with me, to be honest. But he can be so ... stone-like. He never even laughs, you know?" He recognized the voice of Stacey, one of his new hirings.

"Shows what you know. If you'd been through what he had, you'd as stony as him." That was Brenda. She had working at the store nearly since it's opening. She was a mothering type with three children of her own, and she was using her parental tone just then.

"Really?" Now Stacey sounded interested. "What happened?"

A sharp crack came as something was put down quickly. "That's none of your business, is it? He's seen war, that's all I'll say. That boy has seen to much death for his age. You leave him alone, you hear?"

George decided he'd heard enough as well. He opened the door further and slipped through silently. He was hardly surprised. A blind person could see that he wasn't who had once been. Stacey could hardly be blamed for noticing that he was missing more than an ear. He forgot about the conversation as he searched for the Pygmy Puff's food.

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Music was booming in the background. Around him, people were laughing, talking, and drinking. The drinking bothered him much more than the noise. He hadn't had alcohol in nearly three years, and the smell of it was giving him a headache. If he hadn't promised Lee, he wouldn't have at all. As it was, he was already hoping to cut out so he could work on making his hot pink potion in to tablets. He leaned against a wall, looking around. As soon as Harry, Ginny, Lee and Katie were all distracted, he could Disapperate without being heckled about leaving the party early.

"If I give you a Knut, will you tell me your thoughts?"

George blinked stupidly, then turned to his right. Standing next to him was a girl about his age. Her hair was a faded sort of blue that was turning back to mouse brown at the roots; her eyes were hazel, round and intelligent. She only came up to his shoulder and was somewhat chubby. She apparently thought no less of herself for this, if the way she was looking at him gave any indication. She had an aura of complete confidence.

"If I give you a Knut, will you tell me your thoughts?" she asked again, her voice lower than he would have expected, with a slight accent he couldn't put his finger on.

"My thoughts are worth a Galleon, at least." George had no idea why he'd engaged her in conversation. Hadn't he just been about to leave?

The girl crossed her arms skeptically. "I'm not going to pay a Galleon for a thought I don't even know. That's bad business. How about a Sickle now and another if they're any sort of interesting."

"I was thinking that if I squeezed the Kneazle spleens instead of chopping them, they might make my laughing potion easier to make into pills,:" George replied, wondering why he was still talking. "Do I get my Sickles?"

The girl shook her head. "I don't have any Sickles. My name is Mia Sparter."

George was surprised by the sudden subject change; he was forcibly reminded of the few conversations he'd had with Luna Lovegood. "George Weasley."

"I know," Mia said, as though stating the obvious. "Come on. We're going to dance now."

"I don't dance," George said firmly. He could see now that he really shouldn't have talked to this girl in the first place. She obviously some sort of insane. "I've got to get home anyway."

Mia shrugged. "Then here's my address." She took her wand out of her jean pocket and waved it in the air. George was suddenly holding what looked like a business card with large green letters. It said

**Mia Sparter**

**1377 Middletree Road**

**London**

George tucked the business card into his own pocket. "Alright, then," he said awkwardly, wondering how to get out of there as fast as possible.

"Send me an owl tomorrow so we can get a drink," she said, ignoring the fact that George was supremely uncomfortable. Without warning, she reached around the back of his head and dragged him down to be kissed. He'd hardly had time to register this before it was over. Mia looked him over. "I like your hair," she informed him, then walked off.

George couldn't move for a few minutes. He was completely paralyzed by shock. Mia, it appeared, was completely and totally mad. And a very good kisser.

Shaking his head and wondering whether Lee was having trouble selecting friends these days, George Disapperated back to his store.


	2. Misery Business

AN: Come on! One review? That's cold, people. However, I am far too into this story to stop writing. Please review more this time! And thanks to ArcadeFire, whose review I will reply to when my stupid computer lets me.

Disclaimer: Yeah. Right. Sure. Please.

Reddish-purple hair and black dreadlocks bent over a caldron. Lee's robes were disheveled, and his eyebrow was twitching in frustration. He was surrounded by ingredients and half done potions. The hair on his upper lip now shone a bright purple that matched the fading hairs on George's head. Standing just above him, George was calmly relaying instructions to his on-edge friend.

"Exactly. Just use the edge of the knife, see? Now, all you have to do is do that charm I taught you, and look ... pills. Nice, pretty pink pills. All we have to figure out now is the name and the packaging. The pink might make good marketing for the girls, I think."

Lee shook his head, desperate. "It's all fine when you say it like that, but the moment I get back to Hogsmeade I'm going to bugger it up again. I keep thinking that maybe you should've done better in school."

George made a face. "Stop insulting me, Lee, or I'll make that dye job permanent. See if Katie wants to kiss you then. Speaking of, just show her. She's always been more clever than you. Better looking, too. Why is she marrying you, I wonder ...?"

Lee chuckled rather nervously. George's eyes narrowed in warning. Lee plowed on anyway. "You know, Katie ... she's been talking to Alicia lately. Alicia was thinking that ..."

"Keep your nose out of my business if you want to stay it's natural color as well," George said sharply. "You know better, Lee."

Lee shrugged, embarrassed. "Yeah, well, Katie had me promise and all. I tried to tell her you didn't need any help. I saw you with Mia at our engagement party."

A flask of dark green liquid smashed to the floor; at the mention of Mia's name, George started and knocked it over. "That crazy girl who snogged me? I'm more likely to woo the giant squid than I am her. Who is she, anyway?"

Lee looked down forlornly at the arm of his robe – it had disappeared where the potion had splashed it. "Katie's cousin. She lived in America until a few years ago. And I thought you liked it when girls snogged you, mate."

"If you know her, you'd know she's gone off her rocker." George waved his want, and slowly the holes in Lee's robe began to shrink as the fabric crawled towards itself. "Anyway, you know I don't have time for that sort of rubbish. And if I wanted someone, I'd find them myself."

"Except you haven't," Lee pointed out, standing. "I know Mia comes on strong, but at least she's fun."

"And now you sound like my mother, trying to set me up. I like doing what I do. There's no harm in that." George started inching over to the fireplace, hoping Lee would take the hint. He suddenly wanted to be alone in his flat again.

Lee sighed. "If you say so. Think about sending her an owl, won't you? You two ... you have some stuff in common," he concluded lamely. George stared back stubbornly. Lee gave him a long searching look, his eyes clouded. "You can't be alone all the time, Rapier." With that, he took some powder from his pocket and threw it at the fire. He stepped into the leaping emerald flames and disappeared from view.

George stared at the fire for a moment, breathing loudly. With obvious effort, he turned around and walked stiffly to his desk. He began to put things away slowly and carefully, his hands shaking so much that the glass of the flasks clinked, making an awkward sound in the darkness.

Suddenly, a snarl erupted from George's lips. Brandishing his wand, he sent his beside candle smashing into the empty stone where Lee had been minutes before. He could feel the color drain out of his face as the candle's magical flame caught on the logs, becoming a blue and white crackling fire.

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George poked his food and winced again. He had left his mother an opening, and she had such a look of triumph that he knew it was too much to hope she wasn't going to take it.

"You know what you could do, if you wanted cooking like mine all the time?"

"Come here more often?" George asked, offering up his half-smile as winningly as he could.

"Get a girlfriend! Get a wife! Get someone!" Mrs. Weasley was almost crying in frustration. "Harry and Ginny are getting married within the month, Ron and Hermione just a bit after that, Bill's already got Fleur, Percy's out with Penelope again, even Charlie has ..."

George cast a pleading glance at his father. He'd come for a quiet dinner to visit with the majority of the family, excepting Percy, who had been absent more and more as he got involved in the Paris branch of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, and Charlie, who was in Romania, as always. The last thing he felt like doing was to discuss his love life with Hermione and Harry there, trying to pretend they found the ceiling particularly interesting.

Mr. Weasley saw. "Molly, dear, I think your pudding is burning." He motioned to a pot just behind her, which was issuing a cloud of smoke. This was made rather amazing, considering there hadn't been any fire under it until a moment ago.

"Oh, my goodness! I could've sworn I'd turned off, I just could've ..." As Mrs. Weasley turned around to tend to her pudding, George nodded gratefully at his father.

"Do you know, we've been hearing that the Australians are still trying to figure out how to make your Peruvian Darkness Powder?" Harry asked quickly. George felt a surge of affection towards his brother's best friend. He gave him a quick half-smile.

"If they ever figure it out, I doubt they'll ever use it. You probably wouldn't either."

Harry blanched. "George, I use that stuff all the time. What in the world did you put in it?"

The rest of the meal passed without a single comment about George's romantic status. He actually had a bit of fun, taking time to poke fun at Ron just for the hell of it. He was in such a good mood that he offered to stay after and clean up. He chatted jovially with his father, directing a washcloth to the dirty dishes with his wand. His mother bustled in, her hair coming out of it's place. "Are you two helping or standing about like a couple garden gnomes?" she snapped at the two of them. George and his father ducked down their heads, George deciding not to even point out that her comment hadn't even made much sense.

Mrs. Weasley started to bang about the kitchen obviously upset about something. She muttered things under her breath, such as "They're far too young, don't know what they're thinking," and "Barely twenty-one, the two of them, and then Ginny nineteen." She snorted and huffed, slamming pots back into their cupboards and emptying the extra food into the sink. "So when are you going to go on a date?" she asked loudly, and George realized that she was talking to him.

"Mum, I'm just not interested in a relationship right now. I'm only twenty-three, after all." George was regretting his decision to come. Family was overrated, if you really thought about it.

Mr. Weasley tried once again to save his son. "Molly, even Bill wasn't his age when he and Fleur ..."

"He was when he met her!" Mrs. Weasley was unstoppable. "You act like you have to be a hermit, just because Fr-" She gasped abruptly, her hands flying to her mouth. "George, I didn't ..."

George felt as cold as if someone had shoved ice down his back. "I'll see you at the wedding," he told his parents robotically, then swept out of the kitchen without another word.

He sat up that night, hating his mother for what she had almost said. It wasn't something anyone was supposed to talk about. Angrily, he scratched the scared patch of skin that had once been a hole, until flecks of blood settled underneath his nails and the entire left side of his head began to throb. Oddly, the throbbing abated his anger, and as the pain grew steadily worse, he simply began to feel numb inside. He lay in his bed all night, staring up at his ceiling, head pounding without him caring a whit.

It occurred to him that his mother might actually be right. Hadn't Lee been saying the same thing just last week? _You can't be alone all the time_ ... It had been three years, after all. Maybe it was time to test out the waters. If he hated it, at least he could tell his family and friends that he had tried, that it just hadn't worked ...

Unbidden, Mia's face floated up to the top of his mind. He hadn't seen her since the horrible engagement party, and he hadn't ever intended to. Still, it wasn't like he knew a lot of girls in the first place, and it wasn't like he was going to ask out Stacey, or talk to Alicia again.

By the time morning had come, he hadn't thought of any better solutions. Slightly irritated, George called for his owl, Shadow. Proving her namesake, she appeared on his shoulder, without any noise to notify him of her arrival. Grumbling, George wrote a short note – _Leaky Caldron, Saturday, 7:30. George Weasley_ – and tied it to Shadow's outstretched leg. He ran his fingers loosely down her grey, downy feathers; she hooted softly in approval and shook out her wings. He carried her to the window, and she took off, her shape barely distinct over the dark rooftops of Diagon Alley.

He was almost disappointed when she came back that same afternoon. Once he'd had the time to think about it, he had panicked. He hadn't been on a date since his last weekend in Hogsmeade during his sixth year. He had no idea what to do or what to say. What was expected out of a date, these days? Especially considering he really knew next to nothing about the girl, expect for her obvious love of blue and her total lack of sanity.

He un-rolled the note nervously, half-hoping she'd have said no. Instead, he was treated to the most interesting letter he had ever received.

_Dude,_

_You're about two weeks late. Of course, I never paid you your Sickles._

_Mia_

George's insecurities about the date only rose. She seemed to be as completely insane as he'd first suspected. He felt stupid, worrying something like this. Where had his sense of adventure gone? He would have found her absolutely hilarious four or five months ago.

He went back to work, wondering what in the hell a dude was.

AN: Interesting, yes? No? Maybe? Eh. Love? Hate? Review!


	3. Five Colors in Her Hair

AN: I'm dead on my feet. Couldn't sleep all night. Fell asleep at ten in morning. Up at one. Ugh.

I'd like to say thanks to all who reviewed. Exponential increase, my friends!

By the way, _ArcadeFire_, I was in that exact same situation until I found the CD in Target for nine bucks! It's fairly awesome, if you want to know. I would recommend it.

Disclaimer: Come on, now. You people are smart.

If George had ever been nervous a day in his life, he would kiss Kreacher.

As his fingers pounded at the wooden table of the Leaky Caldron, he had one small comfort. What he felt could no longer count as nervousness. He was, in fact, purely terrified. It sounded stupid and childish even in his own head, but he wasn't used to doing new things alone.

He hadn't realized he'd been drifting until he suddenly noticed someone's face very, very close to his. He leaped backwards, cursing, and knocked over his chair, nearly spilling himself on his ass in the process.

Mia didn't actually seem to notice, although, from the glares, she might have the only one in the pub who didn't. All she had to say about the matter was, "Good. So now we can go." She did a small leap over the chair almost as if were simply a normal step forward and grabbed one of George's hands. Without another word, she dragged him out of the pub. She kept leading him, past dark stores and through streets filled with the last stragglers of the day, until they were in a dark alleyway, alone. Still saying nothing, she pushed him up against the nearest wall, dragged his head down, and kissed him. Again.

George was a little more prepared this time. He got a hold of her shoulders and twisted smoothly so that her back was to the wall instead of his. He buried his hands into her hair and pulled her up a little to so as to kiss her even more deeply. Mia was probably insane, but he was male.

"Hmmm." Mia broke their contact abruptly, ducking from under George's arms, which were now supporting him against the wall. She scrutinized him intently, her eyes narrowed. "Interesting." George finally happened to notice that her hair was a much more vivid shade of blue, with no roots showing. It made him notice that her eyes were nearly the same color.

"How did you know my name?" He asked the question because, quite honestly, he really had nothing better to say. Not to mention, he'd seriously been wondering.

Mia looked at him as if he were the mental one. "I was at the funeral," she replied slowly, forming the words carefully and annunciating unnecessarily. George would've liked to ask what funeral she was talking about, but apparently the Q and A period was over. He was being tugged down the streets again. A few people, shop owners and regulars who knew George, were glancing at them quizzically. He almost felt embarrassed, being towed about by a blue-haired midget like so much baggage. Almost. More than that, he felt intrigued. He hadn't realized how boring his life had been for the past, well ... three years. Whatever else she was, this girl didn't exactly fit into the classification of "boring."

He didn't figure out where they were going until they were there. They'd made their way back up towards the beginning of the Alley, and were heading toward the recently reopened Fortescue's. He looked down at his date bemusedly as she opened the door of the ice cream parlor and practically shoved him in. He smiled the half-smile without realizing it.

George ordered a medium chocolate. Mia, unashamed, got a peanut butter, bubblegum, rocky road, coffee combination that threatened at every moment to topple off the cone on which it perched. As they left, George couldn't help but be appreciative of the odd blend of frozen treats; it had the happy effect of making Mia slow down to keep her ice cream from splatting onto the pavement, enough that they were now walking side by side. He crinkled her nose as she licked up the side of her ... selections. "That looks disgusting," he said conversationally.

"Really?" She regarded her cone, which was now running down in rivulets and onto her hands, all in multiple colors. "Well, you try it, then." The next thing he knew, George had a face full of ice cream. Literally. It pressed up against his eyes, flooded up his nose, and forced it's way through his lips and to his tongue.

George couldn't move. He was an adult. Twenty-three. And someone had just pushed an ice cream cone in his face. He opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out; melted rocky road dripped from his nose onto his bottom lip. It was absolutely ... ridiculous.

He slowly became aware of something. Mia was laughing. It wasn't a pretty laugh, either. It was loud and obnoxious, and punctured by this weird sort of breathy snort. Her head was thrown back and her shoulders were shaking.

Then, inexplicably, amazingly, miraculously, George joined her. He laughed so hard that the ice cream was expelled right back out his nose. He had to grab onto her to keep from falling down, he was laughing so hard. He knew that he was no longer even laughing because having ice cream squished into his face was funny, but because he'd forgotten how good laughing felt.

"So how did you like it, by the way?" Mia asked, as they walked down the Alley, arm in arm like a fifties couple. Her free hand waved around the air in front of his face to indicate the sticky colors still there.

He grinned. It almost hurt. "It wasn't just disgusting. It was really, horribly disgusting. Kind of like my Auntie Muriel's personality, frozen."

Mia grinned back. "Maybe you don't know what's good. How will you ever try every flavor if you eat chocolate every time?"

George cocked an eyebrow. "And why would I want to try every flavor?"

"Why not?" Mia stopped walking abruptly. George, with a tiny jolt, saw that they were, in fact, in front of his own store.

He opened the door with a muttered charm and wave of his wand. He was slightly apprehensive, but he merely pointed out, "That's not an actual answer, you know."

Mia shrugged as she moved past him into the store. "Mind if I buy one of these fluffy things?" she asked, pointing over at the Pygmy Puffs, which were stirring peacefully in their sleep. She snapped her fingers. "Which reminds me ..." She rummaged around in her pocket for a moment, then held up two large silver coins. She pressed them into George's hands. "Two Sickles for your thoughts."

"You found them interesting, then?" George asked, as Mia stepped closer to him.

"Very," she said matter-of-factly, then kissed him for the third time.

George thought later that maybe she was right about the ice cream flavors. Because the way they combined in her mouth tasted rather good after all.

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"You slept with Katie's cousin on the first date!"

"Shut it!" George looked around to be sure no one had heard. Fortunately, most were engrossed in the wedding taking place in front of them. Ginny looked fiercely happy, gazing up at Harry. George didn't feel any of the usual desire to kill Harry for wanting to touch his sister in naughty ways; he in fact, did not have ill will toward anything. It was really amazing what getting laid would do for a guy.

"Yeah, I slept with Mia. On the first date. If you can call it that." Really. The world was a wonderful place right now.

Lee gaped like a fish. "I thought you said you thought she was insane," he whispered, his hands squeezing tufts of his robe convulsively.

"She is." Because if there was one thing George knew about Mia, it was that.

"But ... then ..." Lee looked positively frantic. "She's not your girlfriend, then?"

George shrugged. "Not really, no."

"Katie will kill me," Lee pronounced weakly, sinking backward onto one of the spindly white chairs being used for the tiny ceremony.

George couldn't be bothered to care. He hadn't told Lee, but he had seen Mia twice since they had first gone out. They had never actually talked about a relationship; being with Mia was a lot like hanging out with a best friend that he got to have sex with. He could feel a slight lift out of his usual wry depression, and he wasn't about to be the one to pull himself back down.

Lee seemed even more agitated when he realized that George wasn't going to say anything back. "Look, that's not on," he said, his face stern. "You're leading her on."

All George could do about that was grin. A full grin. Which surprised Lee so much that he didn't say a word the rest of the wedding.

AN: Ok, I'm not in love with this chapter, but I needed to establish Mia's character, and it was hard to do in a way I liked. Also ... I'm tired. This also contributes to the chapter being like a half page shorter than usual. Ok, time for sleep. Love? Hate? Review!


	4. Hotel Song

Mia giggled happily as George opened her shirt. Running his tongue ...

AN: Ok, I was going to use a very dirty opening as a joke, but it skeeved me out far too much to continue. I suppose that kills my dream of writing romance novels. Please turn away from your computers so I can weep in peace.

If you can't tell, I haven't slept in two days, and my humor is sort off. However, I did this to also bring up something I thought I should – this is not rated M for a reason. Whatever you know of the before or after, hands and other organs will be kept in appropriate places in the actual parts you read. I've had a few fics blindside me in this sort of way (I don't mind reading M if I know to skip certain parts, but absolutely hate when I'm hit with sexual details and didn't see it the hell coming), and I want everybody to be comfortable in knowing that.

Also, Mia doesn't giggle. Not to mention, George opened her shirt to find the ice cream cone beneath, which was just in front of her tastefully chosen tank top. This is what his tongue was running over. Ah. All better now.

Disclaimer: JK Rowling would never write an AN like the one above. Therefore I am not her, and, conclusively, I do not own Harry Potter.

"_Accio shirt! Accio shirt! Accio_ ... George!"

George slipped his head under his pillow, savoring the feeling of cold on the sheets below. "Noggiddingup," he muttered, his protestation muffled by fabric, feathers, and the thick layer of sleep still in his voice.

"George! George, I'm going to be late. _Accio shirt!_ George!"

He didn't even bother to answer. He was already drifting, his mouth open and dampening the cotton sheet.

_"LEVICORPUS"_

George let out a noise similar to if he had smacked with a broom in his stomach as an invisible force lifted him upside down and dangled him, starkers but for his boxers, by his ankle in the middle of the air. He could make out Mia's face after blinking rapidly. Her mouth was pursed in a way that meant no good for him. "Good morning, my sun and my moon," he greeted cheerfully, despite the blood traveling rapidly to the top of his head.

"Champion of my heart, my shirt," Mia demanded happily, looking as though she had never been irritated in the first place.

Screwing up his forehead, George tried to remember what had happened the night before her clothes were off, his feet still stuck firmly above his head. "Your shirt ... ah." Now he remembered. Black. Low cut. Very low cut. "Over there," he said, pointing to a spot just behind his desk chair.

Mia flicked her wand, and watched her shirt zoom through the air to her with a contented look. "Good. I'd've been late for my new job." She grabbed George's chin long enough to give a swift kiss. Then, tugging on her top, she started to leave the apartment.

"Mia?" George glanced worriedly at his own wand, easily fifty feet away. "Mia?"

With a sudden plop, his foot was released and he fell back into his bed, his head throbbing painfully. He rubbed his hand through his hair ruefully, then collapsed backwards with a sigh. Who needed an alarm when he had ...

He sat back up quickly. "Wait. You have a new job?"

There was no answer. Mia was gone. It occurred to George, as he made his wobbling way over to his bureau, that he had never really asked what it was she had done in the first place.

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A drop of thick gray substance clung onto the end of the flask. It trembled slightly along with the hand that held the glass it refused to leave. Slowly, slowly, the flask dipped, and the drop began to let go, reaching towards simmering potion just below it ...

"GEORGE WEASLEY!

The entire flask fell into the caldron and exploded. The force of it knocked George out of his chair and sent him spinning across the room. He came to a stop at the feet of Katie Bell. He raised an eyebrow at her. "You've dispensed with knocking, I see? No, don't mind me. I'm sure the searing pain in my back will kill me quietly." He sat up painstakingly, wincing with each movement.

Katie put a foot on his shoulder and shoved him back down. "Mia?"

"Oh." George smiled sweetly at her livid expression. "Um ... not here?" A muscle at the edge of Katie's mouth twitched unpleasantly, making George gulp. "And may I add that you look positively radiant on this wonderful of days?"

Katie snorted derisively, reminding George of a bull about to charge. "Lee told me that you're ..." she stopped, apparently unable to actually verbalize what they'd been doing, and settled for flipping her hands about in an indicative manner, "with my cousin! And that you're not her boyfriend, or, or anything! I said that he had to have things wrong, because George Weasley would never do anything like that. Now, who's right?"

George didn't answer right away. Instead, he busied himself with standing up as gently as possible, groaning as each new injury clamored to make itself known. When he finally reached his feet, he had to sit onto his bed almost immediately, panting heavily. He glanced ruefully at the ruin of his experiment, which was now surrounded in navy blue smog. The preparations for it had taken days, and now he'd have to start all over. He scratched his scab sadly.

"George!" Plainly Katie hadn't forgotten her question.

There was nothing for it. "Lee," he said with great dignity to his hands, "is going to wake up three days from now very confused. In Bulgaria." He thought for a second, then added, "with no nose. Because he should learn to keep his appendages out of my business."

A strangled noise emitted from his left. George looked up at Katie. She didn't look so good. Her eyes were popping, her face was bright red, and her fingers were squeezing an invisible something that George supposed must be his neck.

He had to admit to feeling annoyed. What happened between him and Mia was between him and Mia. Everyone had wanted him to get someone for himself. He had, and the two of them were happy with doing what they were doing. "Look, if that's all, I've got cleaning to ..." He shut up quickly. Katie's wand was shoved in his face, right between his eyes.

She spoke in between deep, angry breaths. "You're – taking – advantage – of – her."

In spite of the immediate danger her wand presented, George had to grin. "If you knew your cousin, you'd know that it's most likely the other way around."

"You have no idea!" Katie was entirely beside herself. "You have no idea what she's been through! And you sit there, with that cocky look on your face like always ..." Her wand point started to heat up. George began to seriously worry. Then, at all once, the confrontation was over. Katie, looking as though George were something too disgusting to stay in the same room with, lowered the wand, pocketed it, and swept out his room without a backward glance.

Knowing he should leave well enough alone and be happy his head was still firmly attached to his neck, George tore after Katie. "Wait!"

She stopped on the landing of the stairs, looking as she regretted leaving him intact. "Why?" Icicles grew in where she spoke.

"She said we met at a funeral," George choked out, resisting the urge to retreat. "What funeral?"

After a month, Mia still hadn't explained how she'd known him. She avoided the question so skillfully that it took George a long time to realize that she was, and not simply absent-minded. Terror or not, he wanted an answer.

Emotions that George didn't understand flickered over Katie's face. When she finally replied, her voice was hard. "The funeral for the people killed in the war. Her boyfriend was one of them." She spun in place, and was gone.

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George laughed as Mia's head nuzzled his chest, tickling him. He smoothed her hair out of her face and kissed her forehead loudly and messily, making her chuckle in return. He didn't really want to examine the fact that while he now smiled a lot more easily, he only laughed around Mia.

To distract himself as much as anything else, he commented, "You know, your cousin almost castrated me today."

Mia made a face. "That would've been unfortunate."

"That's what I thought." George waited a moment to see if Mia was going to ask why her cousin was trying to take his favorite parts, but didn't really expect much. Mia wasn't into details. He continued. "And I think my family might not be ecstatic either, once they find out. So I thought we should do something about it."

"What?" Mia looked down at her hair, distracted. "Is this really my color?"

George ignored the redirect, far too used to them by now. "I think we should lie to them. Say we're dating properly. Boyfriend and girlfriend type thing."

Mia rose up on her elbow. "I like what we're doing," she said matter-of-factly. "I don't like relationships. I told you that."

George nodded. "I don't want anything to change either. But no one seems to want us to do what we want."

Mia's eyebrows, which were now a light shade of blue to compliment her bright hair, snapped together. "I don't like changing things to please other people."

George shrugged and backed off. "Doesn't matter much to me. But you have to protect me from Katie. Because I like myself the way I am, everything in it's proper place and all." He settled back down into his pillows, his arm encircling Mia and pulling her towards him.

He was almost asleep when Mia tapped his shoulder. He turned towards her blearily in the dark. "If we pretended to be going out, would anything change?"

George yawned loudly, shaking his head. "We'd probably have to go to major things together, like my brother's wedding coming up. Other than that, we just say we're dating if anyone asks, and do whatever we want when we're together."

Mia was silent for such a long time he almost went back to sleep. "I do things when and how I want to. I'm doing this with you because you're what I want now. One day, I might not want that anymore, and I'll end it. I can't do that if you're ... attached."

George smiled at her reassuringly, though he wasn't entirely sure she could even see him. "I just want to have fun, because I haven't had fun in a long time. You're fun. This is fun. That's all it is."

Her hands were on either side of his head, and he was being kissed, lightly and playfully. When she released him, she laughed, loud and booming. "Well, then. I will be your pretend girlfriend. And I think I'll keep my hair blue."

AN: Oh, yeah. You thought the relationship was messed up before? I have barely begun, my friends. They're just such fun to mess with! George isn't going to have an easy time of it, I can promise. Ok, then. I'm a good deal happier with this chapter than the last one. Plus, it is a bit longer, to make up for the length of the one before. Love? Hate? Review!


	5. Crazy Chick

AN: Up late. Again. One day I will be able to sleep on normal hours. Or so I hope. Or lie to myself. Whatever. This chapter was a bit tricky to write. This relationship is seriously tricky to write. These two are some serious crazy, and I have some trouble making them fit the way I want. They just keep wanting to go too fast, and not go where I want them to at all. I'm turning into one of those crazy authors who talk about their characters like they're real, now. I need to stop this.

Disclaimer: If I owned HP, Mia would be in it, because I pretty much love her at this point. She's not, so assume I don't own a damn bit of the HP franchise.

George examined Mia's sleeping form from the edge of his bed. He had never seen someone so completely ... unconscious. He'd done everything he could think of to wake up – _Levicorpus, Aguimenti_, even making his voice loud enough to rattle the shutters and shouting at her for a good twenty minutes. All that had happened was that she was now curled up in an inelegant position and sopping wet. He had checked several times to make sure she was still breathing.

A loud crack startled out of his contemplations. He turned to see Ron, beaming despite the scowl on his face. George smiled at him largely. "Running out on our wedding day, are we? Probably for the best. It won't be much longer before Hermione realizes she's too good for you."

Ron was no longer beaming. "Hilarious. Where've you been? You were supposed to be at home an hour ago."

Sighing, George pointed at the bed. "Well, _I_ know that. _She_ doesn't seem to care."

Ron followed his direction and practically jumped. "Wha ... Who ... Who's that?" he sputtered, his ears exploding into a bright scarlet and the rest of his face slowly following suit.

"That's Mia," George replied unconcernedly. "She's my girlfriend," he added as an afterthought.

Ron, who was carefully keeping his eyes averted from the blue-headed girl in his brother's bed, asked, in an amazed sort of voice, "You have a girlfriend? Since when?"

"A couple months now." George was only giving half his attention to the conversation. The rest was turned back to the problem of getting Mia to wake the hell up. "Hey, Hermione a deep sleeper?"

Ron shook his head, simply refusing the question. He muttered something about having to get back to the Burrow and Disapperated without so much as a good-bye.

"Thanks for the help," George said crossly to empty air, his eyes still on Mia. Maybe she was, in fact, dead. If someone could be dead and snore like that.

Inspiration struck. George grinned down at the girl's sleeping form wickedly. Oh, she was not going to thank him for this.

The first thing that Mia heard that morning was an explosion similar to the one that Katie Bell had caused George to create. She was shot straight from the bed into George's arms a good thirty feet away. Groaning, she looked over herself, then back up at her bedmate. "Had trouble waking me today, prince of my soul?

"My dove of love, you have no idea." Slowly, George set Mia onto her feet, then shooed her towards the bureau, which contained a whole drawer of her things. "We're nearly two hours late for my dear brother's wedding, and I happen to be rather fond of the bride. Also, my mother's threats, should I miss this great event, included cursing off one of my buttocks."

"At least it would be a talking point." Mia blew an exaggerated kiss in George's general direction, then walked off, humming off key, to change.

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They Apperated a little bit down the road from the Burrow. The entire way up, George muttered quick facts in Mia's ear – family names, family history, and family she should avoid. He had just managed to stress the importance of avoiding Aunt Muriel at all costs when the sounds from the Burrow reached their ears.

"HOW _DARE_ YOU! HERMIONE IS A WONDERFUL GIRL, THE THINGS SHE'S DONE IN HER LIFE ..."

Many voices were fighting for dominance in George's old home, but his mother's was clearly audible over all else.

"... BLOOD PURITY! THAT IS THE STUPIDEST THING I'VE EVER ..."

George sighed, a misty look in his eyes. "Dear old Mum."

"She has a very impressive vocal capacity." Mia grabbed his hand and began to pull him towards the house. "This sounds like fun!" George allowed himself to be dragged, laughing, to the top of the hill and into his house. He was greeted by one of the most wonderful sights he had ever seen.

On one side of the room, his Aunt Muriel was seated on a spindly golden chair just like those from both Bill and Ginny's weddings. Her meaty hands gripped the sides of her seat tightly as if to hold herself back from inflicting harm to those she argued with – and she was arguing, passionately, her large face purple with rage and spittle flying as she enunciated her points heatedly. On the other side, Bill, Charlie, and Harry were speaking in raised voices toward Aunt Muriel, but were practically impossible to hear. Just in front of them, Mrs. Weasley stood, hands on her hips and eyes widened, screaming at such a volume that George had to marvel at the lung strength that must be involved to keep it up. Her entire body was flushed red, from the looks of things, and it seemed a miracle that her wand remained stuck haphazardly in her apron string.

Mia smiled happily up at George. "I absolutely love your family, darlingest of all darlings."

He bent down to kiss her swiftly before sidling over to Bill, who stood closest. "What's the fuss all about?" he asked under his breath. "Muriel can't be worse than her usual miserable bat self, can she?"

Bill shot a glare across the room before answering. "She can. She's on about how Ron's making a mistake and Hermione isn't a proper witch. Worst part is," he added, looking slightly murderous, "the poor girl heard the whole thing."

George could identify with the feeling. Hermione was family, and Aunt Muriel had insulted her; it was simple as that. He turned, red-faced, to his Aunt. "Oi! You stupid old hag ..."

"STOP!"

All seven heads in the kitchen turned to the doorway and the source of the ringing word that had pierced the explosion of noise. Ron stood there, his fists clenched. It was quite obvious that he had heard what Bill had said, and was hardly pleased by it. It was also suddenly obvious to George why Harry would choose Ron to take with him on all of his dangerous adventures over the years. He had never seen his little brother look so ... terrifying.

Slowly, so slowly, Ron moved into the kitchen. There was silence as his cold eyes swept over everyone in turn. When his gaze turned to Aunt Muriel, his features turned hard. She shrunk back from involuntarily and licked her thin lips nervously.

"Leave." Ron spit out the word in a manner that suggested her hardly worth the effort. Next second he was gone, up the stairs and out of sight.

For a moment, no one could move. George himself felt awed. Where had _that _come from? Ickle Ronniekins, fierce and ready to fight? Maybe he should join the Auror training program ... or was it that year when he, Harry and Hermione had disappeared...

The tension in the room and George's trail of thought were broken as a leg of Aunt Muriel's chair Vanished, sending her crashing to the ground. As the rest of the family looked at the fallen old woman, dumbfounded, George automatically turned to Mia. She wore the same happy smile she had upon their arrival, but tipped him a lusty wink when she caught his look. George began to laugh loudly, and she joined him with her brutally loud guffaw, holding onto his shoulder for support.

Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Charlie, and even Harry turned at the sound of George's laugh as if hearing a ghost. He smirked slightly at them and put an arm around Mia's shoulders. "Hello, dearest family. This is my girlfriend, Mia." He felt extremely cheerful as he added to Mia, "Let's go check on the groom, eh, sweetheart of mine?"

Mia nodded. "Let's, man of my dreams."

Still wrapped around each other, they wandered up the stairs, chuckles escaping their mouths at random intervals. A surge of affection washed over George, and he turned to Mia and kissed her deeply. They pulled apart abruptly, chuckled some more, and continued to Ron's room.

George flung the door open just in time to see Hermione throw her arms around Ron, who was now smiling broadly. "We're getting married in Paris!" she cried, her eyes shining as she looked up at the boy she held. They were kissing. Then they were gone.

Mia peered around him and into the empty room. "Did they just ..."

"They did." He grabbed Mia's hands. "And so are we."

George was a brave man, really. But he was hardly brave enough to tell his mother that her youngest and his fiancé had just run out on their own wedding.

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The butterbeer swirled warmly in his mouth, tickled in a hot stream down his throat, and settled comfortably in his stomach. It cemented the contented feeling George had, sitting in his bed covered in soft blankets and Mia lying beside him. They were both fully clothed, for once. Instead of their usual activities, they were simply sitting together, drinking the butterbeer, laughing and talking.

"... so we set off the entire load of them. Umbridge had a fit. She couldn't get them to stop for days. Of course, it was months of work we used up, took us ages to make up for it. But it was worth it," George added with conviction. He flourished his bottle at the ceiling and took a large swig.

Mia laughed loudly. "I wished I'd met your brother."

George nodded, unperturbed. It was different talking to Mia about him. He couldn't say his brother's name out loud, still, couldn't even think it to himself. But he could tell about the stupid things they'd done and the thousands of laughs they'd had together.

He waited a moment before posing his next question. "What about your boyfriend?" She looked up at him, her eyes confused. He felt suddenly ill-at-ease. "You know. The one that ..." He choked on the word "died."

Mia didn't ask how he knew. He hadn't really expected her to. She didn't care about details like that. Instead, she smiled at him slowly, but a very different smile than he was used to. It was tinged with just a touch of sadness, but that sadness reminded George so much of the feelings he held under lock and key in the back of his mind.

"He and I grew up together in Dorset." She settled down onto the pillow behind her. "I think I first told him that I loved him when I was six." George grinned; he could easily imagine a brown haired, chubby little girl telling a very surprised six-year-old boy her deepest feelings while sitting in the sandbox. "I moved to America when I was ten with my dad. But we kept in touch. We visited each other every holiday. I spent an entire summer at his house one time. We ended up setting his cat's tail on fire, trying to practice Stupefying. After that, we only saw each other for a couple weeks at a time. But I loved him."

George brushed his lips on the top of her hair. "Sounds a bit like me, actually. Bound to have been an amazing chap."

She smiled again, happily this time. Her head slid down to rest on his shoulder. "He was."

A long moment passed in comfortable silence. George was finally the one to break it. "We're in a relationship."

Mia, panicked, pushed off him and sat up. "What? No, we can't be!"

George chuckled a little at her dismay. "It's too late. We are." Her eyes widened, and George decided to let her calm down some. "You and I are friends, oh sorceress of my soul, and there is simply nothing you can do about it."

Mia's face froze for a moment. Then she hit him soundly upside the head.

Rubbing his head, George scowled at Mia. "That was really uncalled for, you know."

Mia snorted, looking as if she couldn't decide between laughing or hitting him again. "You're an asshole, you know that? Scaring me like that."

"Yeah, well, I'm still far too adorable to hit," George informed her haughtily, his nose in the air. She couldn't help but laugh at him, and he winked roguishly. He slung an arm around her and pulled her down against him. For the first time, they fell asleep together for the sake of falling asleep together.

AN: Whew! Longest chapter yet! Ron and Hermione's wedding in this chapter has gone just like the one I wrote for my other fic, _Constantly Moving Forward_ (yeah I know, similar titles, so sue me). If you want the full description of what happened, check it out there. I'll try not to cross over anymore, but it's too hard to write two fanfics at the same time in the same world and make them have different timelines and different versions of the same events. Please forgive me for this lapse. Also, the last section is kind of sloppy, but under the circumstances, I did the best I could. Love? Hate? Review!


	6. Konstantine

AN: I honestly don't know where this came from. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen for another chapter or two. But, once again, I got very little sleep (who gets little sleep this often in the summer, I'd like to know), and I started listening to the song "Konstantine" by Something Corporate over and over again (hence, obviously, the name of this chapter, and it's well worth listening to while reading, especially towards the end), and this is sort of what just sorta popped out. I'm not even sure I like it, but I couldn't stop writing it. So I hope you enjoy, at any rate. Oh. And also, two reviews guys? That's not cool. Don't make threaten to do something drastic. I'd be very sad.

Disclaimer: Yeah, J.K. Rowling didn't write this. Trust me. Read on.

For the third time that week, George peered down into a firewhisky, wishing that all the things floating around in his head could just get swallowed into the amber liquid. For the third time that week, he knew how stupid that sounded, even in his head. He just felt ... different. Since that night of his brother's near-wedding, everything had changed, and he hadn't wanted it to.

"You do know that when most people order alcohol, they drink it." George looked up to see Mia, standing just in front of him, wiping a glass with a filthy rag. Her lips curved perfectly when she smiled...

George shook his head, rather like a dog ridding itself of fleas. "I was admiring the beauty of oblivion, you see," he replied seriously. "I drink enough of the stuff, and it acts better than a Memory Charm. And such a pretty color!" He smirked at her, raised the mug enthusiastically, and downed it all at once. The burn of the drink was perfect to him. It promised relief from things he couldn't handle.

Mia leaned over to him and kissed him lightly. "Good stuff, firewhisky," she remarked, smacking her lips dramatically.

"Hey, dahlin'!" A man down the bar raised his own mug and waved it unsteadily. "Top me off, mah girl!"

Mia put her hands on her hips mockingly. "Hugh, if I top you off one more time, you're not going to be able to sit upright."

A raucous laugh followed this remark, and the men up and down the bar pounded their various drinking implements appreciatively. George scowled slightly, though he titled his head down so that Mia would miss it. He didn't mind her day shifts at the Leaky Caldron, as maid or waitress or whatever it was Tom needed help with. It was the nights, most especially on the week-ends, when men came pouring into the bar and got unashamedly drunk, that he began to feel ... he wasn't sure what. He knew two things for sure, though. These feelings weren't exactly friendly, and a few weeks ago, he wouldn't have felt them at all. He would've laughed with the other men and hit his mug on the wooden table. He would've thought it hilarious when older men with dripping beards who were obviously sloshed had tried their best to hit on Mia, slurring their words and looking slightly cross-eyed. Now, he was scowling into empty mugs with firewhisky on his breath, and he wasn't the least bit happy about it.

"Hey, you." The object of his thoughts was by his side again, smiling down at him brilliantly. "What's got your smile in denial?"

George snorted. "I've told you. Bartender talk doesn't suit you."

Mia shrugged amicably. "Fine, then. Stick up your ass, oh light of my night?"

"Nope. All sticks are in the front, sweetest of bar maidens," George returned with a lecherous grin.

Hand over her mouth, Mia gasped loudly. "Most wonderful of wizards, that was a very inappropriate comment! You will be rewarded soundly for that tonight," she added, kissing him once again. This action received some booing and catcalls around the room, which only made her chuckle.

George began scratching very hard on his scab as she moved on to other customers, refilling their empty mugs and glasses and laughing her loud laugh at some of their jokes. He only stopped when the side of his head began to buzz unpleasantly. He stared once more into his mug. For a moment, he thought of Ron, his ears flushing every time Hermione looked at him, and George suddenly knew why. This was the worst thought of all so far that night, so he threw his coins on the bar and walked out. Mia knew where to find him when she was ready.

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Slowly, slowly, slowly. The spoon went around and around the caldron, mixing the ingredients quietly. Ever so slowly...

"George!"

Lee's voice made George jump nearly a mile, spilling over his chair in the process. He whipped his head around to glare at his best friend. "You and your fiancé should learn all the wonderful applications of the ability to knock."

Ignoring this, Lee strode over to George and clapped him on the shoulder heartily. "Heard you decided to make Mia your girl. Brilliant, really. Katie's gotten off my back completely."

"Glad to be of assistance, as always, but I've got things to do." George shrugged Lee's hand off his shoulder and turned back to his potion moodily.

There was silence for a moment. Then Lee picked up the fallen chair and sat down in purposefully. "Nice try. Tell me what's happened, then."

George considering cursing him for a moment; then he shoulders slumped in defeat. "Nothing I understand."

Lee scrunched his eyes up, tipped his chair back, and gave George a full look from bottom to top. His lips stretched out in a wide grin. "Don't tell me," he said, positively gleeful, "that the great George Weasley is having girl trouble."

"So glad I opened up to you, mate."

"Yeah, you should be," Lee informed him, grinning indecently. "So tell me. What about this girl's got you stumped?"

George thought about not answering the question. He knew what wanted to say, of course. He just knew that it would horribly stupid and pathetic and Bill-like, when he was talking about Fleur. Or worse, Ron-like.

But Bill, or Charlie, or Ron or Harry were his only other options, and none of them were at all appealing.

He rubbed his forehead before speaking. "I used to kiss her because I liked kissing. Now I kiss her because I like kissing _her_. And I don't know what the hell happened, and I don't like it, because that means everything's changed."

Lee was no longer smiling. "Does she, er, think things have changed?"

Helplessly, George shook and hung his head at the same time. "I have absolutely no idea."

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"And he said, if the family hadn't made their own wedding day hell, they wouldn't've had to run off in the first place. Mum, of course, lost her temper immediately, started firing curses left and right. Ron threw himself in front of Hermione, got the worst of the damage, but Kingsley says that his eyebrows will grow back eventually."

Once again, Mia let out a loud, horrible sounding laugh that made George join in enthusiastically. She stretched on his bed, shaking with laughter, and rubbed her head deeper into the pillow that had become hers at some point.

George sat next to her on the floor, grinning. "You could show some compassion for my poor brother, dearest."

"So could you, my love," she responded. Her hand dipped down from her vantage point on the mattress and landed roughly on George's head. She played softly with the hairs there. In the silence that followed, George could make out Mia's off-tune humming.

"What song is that?"

The humming stopped abruptly, as did the hand playing in his hair. Her head swung down on his left side. "What?"

"The song. It has a name or title, I believe, angel of my soul." George tried to sound as casual as possible, not sure himself why he cared.

Mia shrugged as best she could, part of her dangling in the air. "Just a song from a band in America. It's the first song I taught myself on the piano."

"You play piano?"

Inch by inch, Mia sat up, her eyebrows clenched in suspicion. "Yeah."

Without warning, a dam opened up in George's mind. Everything that bothered him, everything he wanted to know, came flooding out. "Do you own a piano? Is it in your home? And what is your home? A house? A flat? What? Why haven't I ever been there? Why did you move back to England? What was your job before you started working at the Leaky Caldron? Why did you dye your hair blue? Tell me anything, anything, but tell me something!"

Mia was no longer on the bed. She stood, near the window, looking like she wanted nothing more than run out the door and as far away from George as possible. George was no longer sitting either, but across the room from her, between her and escape. She bit her lip anxiously, something she never did. "What does it matter? We don't talk about details, you know ..."

"Yeah, we don't talk about details." George had no idea where this rage had come from, and who he felt it towards, but he knew he couldn't stop it. "Not unless it's about my brother or your boyfriend. And we say we're friends to each other, and we tell other people we're dating, and more than half the nights in a week we shag in my apartment. I'm tired of not knowing what that is."

"What does it matter, George?" Mia repeated, a fire beginning to smolder in her eyes. "We don't have limits, we don't have lines. That's why we're in this, because neither of us wants that. I told you a long time ago I didn't know how long I'd stick around."

"It's been nearly four months now, Mia." George could the back of his neck flush and his nails bite into his straining palms. "And you haven't left yet. So why can't I go to your house? Why can't have some damn limits? What if I want to know what you do when you're not here?"

"Because I'm not ready for that!" Mia looked furious herself. That was good. It was easier to be mad at her if she was fighting back. "Because that's not what this was supposed to be!"

"Well, that's too bad. Because that's what this is." And then George had crossed the room, and she was in his arms, and he was kissing her in a way that in all their time together he never had. Hot and heavy and sweet, his lips demanding something back from her that he'd never asked before.

He pulled away when it was finally necessary. Her back was up against a wall. Breathing loudly through bruised lips, her eyes dazed and her chest heaving, Mia had never looked quite as perfect to him. Nudging her mouth with his, he whispered against her breath, "Why are you so damn complicated?"

She laughed, but so much lighter than usual. "That's a song ... there's a song like that ..."

He silenced her with his tongue. They wrapped around each other, closer than they had before, their kisses deeper than ever before, and George felt a heady, reckless sensation he hadn't ever, ever, ever felt before...

Never had he woken up as cold as he did the next morning when he woke up to find her gone.

AN: So, yeah. Uber drama, but what can you do? When the muse strikes you, I guess. I honestly don't quite know what came over me. But I do promise a little drama next chapter, though there must be some, because ... well, look at it! Love? Hate? I beg, review!

P.S. Funny thing I had to point out. My computer gives all my stories a grade level, based on vocabulary and grammar, I suppose. This story, due to all my blatant refusal to use proper grammar in order to achieve George's voice, constantly gets rated fifth grader worthy. Yeah. Fifth graders are so obviously my target audience. Sorry, just made me chuckle, thought you might like it, too.


	7. Something to Sleep to

AN: You know what's seriously beginning to irritate me? All the Harry/Hermione crap floating around out there. For goodness sake! Were we all reading the same book? I loved Ron and Hermione from the get-go. However, I assumed that J.K., like all authors, would stick Harry with Hermione, and forced myself to see the good points of Harry and Hermione. It was mid-way through third book, when Hermione and Ron made up from that enormous fight that it suddenly hit me. Rowling was going to really do it! She was making Ron and Hermione canon! Since then I have been the definition of a die-hard Ron and Hermione fan. I don't understand how one could not be. Harry and Hermione would be bored stiff with each other within a week, honestly.

The point of this rant? There isn't one, really. I just needed to get it off my chest. That, and it explains partially why Ron and Hermione are having their ceremony like three months after they actually got married. Well, that, and it really fit in with where I wanted to go with this chapter.

Disclaimer: Time to play another game of "If I Owned Harry Potter ..."! If I owned Harry Potter, Ron and Hermione would have spent a good deal more of DH making out. They didn't, so safely assume I was not in charge of any decision making as far as that goes.

The breeze blowing across the Burrow seemed to have a personality of its own; if it took a body, it would mostly likely be that of a small kitten. It was eager to play with all the inhabitants it found, resting in their rickety chairs on the hill as the sun came down. Whistling through ears and tufting hair, the breeze made its delicate way to the front of the gathering. There, the dress of the bride billowed slightly to reveal the wearer's previously offending ankles and the edges of the groom's robes lifted to reveal the tiniest of white scars on his left wrist. The breeze smoothed and rubbed itself over these, then swept back into the crowd, purring sweetly as it touched hands, legs, and noses.

The only person who really noticed the unseen invader was the red-haired man closest to the back. George rather appreciated the feel of the wind against his scab. It was sort of reassuring, in a weird way, like someone patting the side of his head jovially.

In spite of himself, he couldn't help the smallest of smiles creeping over his lips. Ron and Hermione had never looked so happy, in spite of the fact they'd been married for a few months already. Ron's eyes shone brightly under the red stubble of partially grown eyebrows. Hermione kept jiggling spontaneously, almost as if everything were too good to be true, and she was about to burst with it. As much as George wished he was sickened by this, as would be proper, he just felt ... happy. And a little lonely.

Vaguely, he could hear snippets of speech from the shrimpy man who was performing the perfunctory ceremony. Without warning, Ron practically leapt forward and scooped Hermione up, his lips landing on hers with a kiss that was only written about in the sappiest of romance novels. George stuck two fingers in his mouth and let go an ear-splitting whistle. He was the older brother, after all.

Somehow, through great skill and impeccable timing, he managed to avoid seeing his mother all the up until it was time to cut the cake. This was even more amazing considering that only about thirty people had come to this wedding. Everyone else rather assumed that they would be stood up again.

However, she cornered him in the end. As the not-so-newlyweds, beaming almost indecently, pushed cake into each other's faces, George smelled the combination of cinnamon and worry that meant his mother was upon him. Before he could even turn his head to verify this, her voice was in his ear. "Hello, George."

He whirled about, his eyebrows halfway up his forehead and his jaw dropped. "Mother!" he cried in mock surprise. "Absolutely spiffing! Imagine seeing you here, darling." He shook her hand robustly. "How's dear Arthur? And the children. Are they well?"

"George," Molly said, annoyed. "You shouldn't act that way. Though, of course, you're here so rarely these days ..."

"I have to grace the rest of the world with my presence," George replied gravely. Too late, he remembered where he had first heard that expression.

Almost as if she read his mind, Molly brought up Mia right away. "So where is that ... girl?" She put an emphasis on girl as if she wasn't entirely sure this was the correct term. When George remained silent, she pressed on. "She seemed very, well, interesting, and I just wanted to talk to her about ..."

For the second time, George cut his mother off. "There's nothing left to really talk to her about," he informed her dully. "Look, there's Charlie." Before his mother could say anything more, he was off like a shot towards his older brother. "Charlie!" he cried, dragging down on his brother's arm. "Walk with me. Talk with me. And whatever you do, don't look back."

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"Don't forget, a representative of the Ministry is coming by today. If it's not Kingsley, or Harry, or my dear brother, do be a dear and treat them horribly. Especially if it's a sketchy sort of bloke with hair that looks as if it's been plastered to his head. In fact, if he comes, overcharge him. And perhaps set him on fire."

Brenda nodded smartly. "Bloke with wonky hair. Got it."

"That's why I actually pay you more than anyone else," George informed the motherly woman in a conspiratorial whisper. "Percy keeps demanding to know where all that extra money is going, but I just tell him that employees shouldn't ask impertinent questions." He winked at her largely and patted her on the back.

Brenda smiled up at him warmly. "As well you should. But then, here I am about to ask such a question myself."

George cocked an eyebrow, surprised. "Really? Put me down as intrigued."

"Where's Mia gone?"

If George was surprised before, he wasn't sure there was a word for what he was now. "Erm ... you know Mia?"

His favorite employee simply kept smiling her sweet smile.

Suddenly uncomfortable, George licked his lips. "She ... well, I haven't the slightest, actually. But I'm fairly sure she's not coming back, at any rate."

Brenda shook her head. "She was a flight risk, that one. Kept asking about things like if I ever stopped to look at cloud shapes. But she cared about you."

"I'm not so sure."

"She'll be back." Brenda's voice was confident. She reached up and patted George's cheek. "You'll see."

George grinned down at her ruefully. "You know, I once told someone I thought she might be taking advantage of me. I reckon I was right."

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This was stupid. This was very, very stupid. This was stupid enough that he could easily picture some love-struck sap doing it. Like Percy over Penny.

Knowing this didn't stop him from continuing to lay flat on his bed, staring at the spot where he had kissed Mia that last time.

It had been a month. It had been four weeks, precisely, in five minutes.

He hated this. Looking back, he realized he'd never stood a chance. Never had he entered into something this big so alone. There was no other half to tell him what to do anymore. And Mia was too much for any one person to handle on his own.

George sometimes wondered where it had all gone wrong. He had been fooling around, and then he was falling for a girl that was completely untamable.

He tried not to think about it, mostly. At night, though, when he nothing in his bed but covers and pillows, he couldn't help himself.

How does one move on from something that was never defined?

Two minutes to a month.

There had been some part of him that believed that she'd come back. A creak on his steps would send him jumping towards the door. Every time the bell at the front of the store jingled after normal hours, he'd be there instantly, shoulders slouching when he couldn't spot a blue hair anywhere.

He had some pride, though. In four weeks he hadn't gone near the Leaky Caldron.

One month.

A knock startled him out of his stare. Grumbling mutinously, he hauled himself upwards and ambled towards the door. "I'm not really in the mood for talking," he called loudly as he twisted the handle, "so you should probably just ..."

He had to blink a few times. Because he couldn't possibly be seeing Mia standing just in front of him.

She looked perfect and very different than he'd remembered at the same time. She was shifting from foot to foot like a naughty schoolchild. "Hi," she said plainly.

George nodded. "Hello."

"It's been a month."

"Happy anniversary, sweetheart," George replied enthusiastically.

She accepted his sarcasm as if it were penance. "I shouldn't have left."

"No, you shouldn't've."

He swung the door shut smartly in her face.

AN: Kinda short, but what the hell. I like it a bit better than the last one, but it could be the hour talking (wa-hoo for it being 3 AM). Also, while I hate reading angst, it's fun as hell to write. Also, I like Brenda, when she pops up. Its fun, letting George have a second mother just for him. Now, two reviews will not be accepted a third time. I now threaten something drastic. So, go! Love? Hate? REVIEW!!!!!


	8. Hands Open

AN: Ok, this will probably be the shortest chapter I'll ever write for this story. But I felt that the way I wrote the first encounter, anything after it would feel awkward. So I'm sorry for the delay (my computer was having problems, and then the site was having problems, and I started a new Ron and Hermione fic) in putting this up. I don't like to put something cliffhanger-ish and then leave it. But before the chapter starts, let me thank my anons:

– Why, thanks. Nice screen name, by the way.

Well, wasn't that short!

Disclaimer: Yeah, right. I own part of Harry Potter, but I'm sitting here on my crappy computer, writing fanfic. Sure.

All in all, it was probably best that none of the neighboring shops had anybody living at the top of them. Already it was past three in the morning, and George was venting his feelings the best way he knew how – with lots of color, smoke and earth-shaking explosions.

Currently, a deep green fog covered most of his workspace, and was emitting a high-pitched noise, which sounded a bit like Percy crying. George's hair was slowly turning the same color at the roots. He leaned over the boiling potion on his desk, examining the contents with interest. To be honest, he'd only wanted to make a lot of noise, but this mixture had potential. Glancing about, he muttered mutinously, realizing that the if wanted to continue this experiment, he had to go root about downstairs in the supply room. Still grumbling, he waved off the smoke and made his way to the door.

In the dark, George had no chance of seeing her. He tripped over her legs, wheeled his arms ineffectively, and plunged headfirst down the stairs and onto the landing.

The next thing he heard was off-key humming. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, narrowing them almost instantly in protest of the bright light and lingering smoke. Something bright blue lowered itself over him. "Morning, sunshine of my soul."

George's forehead crinkled in confusion. The blue thing was talking to him. "Er ... 'lo?"

A bit of stick poked his head. Cool washed over the ache he hadn't even realized he felt until just then. He was able to open his eyes fully, enough to realize that the blue "thing" had a face and the "stick" was a wand.

"Mia."

She nodded. "Lumos is a really useful spell, you know."

"Well, really useful people don't fall asleep in front of doorways," George pointed out, wincing as he sat up. Apparently, his head wasn't the only thing he'd hit.

"Really graceful people don't fall down stairs," Mia replied nonsensically. George realized that she'd pulled up his desk chair, and that the fingers of one of her hands were running up and down his arm.

He removed the arm under the pretense of looking for his watch. "What's the time?"

"Seven. Brenda opened the store. Why don't you look me in the eye?" Mia said all of this in the same, even tone.

George met her eyes defiantly. "Why are you here, Mia?" he asked bluntly.

Mia crossed her knees, stuck her elbow on the top leg, and propped her head up on it. "I told you, I shouldn't have left."

"Yeah, you told me that. Normal people don't consider that an answer," he informed her, straightening up as much as he could. "For once, I'm going to have to side with them."

Mia sighed. "I hate commitment."

George rolled his eyes. "I'll keep that in mind whenever I get the urge to propose. If you hadn't told me, who knows what I would've done."

"I've only had one boyfriend."

If George hadn't anticipated this, he probably would've forgiven her right then. Instead, he offered her a piercing stare. "I know that."

Mia seemed the tiniest bit thrown. "Well," she stated, very much like one of the Hogwarts teachers explaining something simple to a rather slow student, "then you realize this is hard for me."

"I do. And I would have realized this if you had stuck around to talk about it that night, as well." George, ignoring the feeling that this was a very childish thing to do, crossed his arms and glared.

"Oh." Mia tilted her head up towards the ceiling. George felt an odd sort of triumph. Who wouldn't look at who now?

He didn't know how much time they passed like that, but it felt like hours. A sudden restlessness filled him, despite his throbbing bruises. He stood and walked irritably over to his work space, clearing off the leftover ingredients with sharp jabs of his wand.

"I'm sorry, George."

Noisily, he sucked in breath. He spun around and leaned against his desk, focusing so hard on Mia he almost thought that he'd be able to see exactly what she was thinking. When this didn't happen, he settled for finding out the old fashioned way. "What do you want from this?"

Mia shook her head at him. Without warning, she had crossed the room and had her arms around his neck, dragging him down to her mouth.

When they broke apart, she grinned at him sunnily. "I wanna be your real girlfriend, lord of my libido."

George laughed loudly for the first time in a month. He kissed her lightly on the tip of her nose. "You're sure, lady of my dreams?"

"Mia is short for Amelia. And we can go to my flat anytime you want." Mia ruffled his green and red locks messily. "I love your hair."

They were both laughing this time when their lips met.

AN: I would like to say thank you for all the reviews last chapter. Major spike! Also, next chapter will definitely be longer. We aren't done with these crazy kids yet. Love? Hate? Review!


	9. Songs In My Pocket

AN: Oi. I'm trying to write three fics at the same time. Hint: not working out so well. I'll try and get back on schedule. Of course, part of the problem was how long this took to write. I have no idea what happened, but I got a full-on block after the first couple paragraphs. However, it was Bethany Joy and Alexz Johnson to the rescue! Which is why this chapter is named after one of BJ's songs, and Alexz will soon get one of her own. I mean, I love my rock as much as the next girl (and deplore hip-hop, rap, and R&B unless under extreme circumstances, as is right), but every once in a while you just need some nice acoustic, you know? Well, I do, anyway. After listening to them for a while, this just came to me, the last bit especially from "Then Slowly Grows" by Bethany Joy.

Thanks for all the reviews, by the way. Five is a nice, fully acceptable number, and as long as we don't back to two reviews per chapter (blech), we will all be fine.

Anons:

_selbia_ – Thanks! I think this chapter will more satisfactory in terms of length. Over four pages on my computer (barely, but still).

Disclaimer: Bah!

The flat was hardly what could be called spacious. It only had three rooms, one of which was a compacted kitchen and sitting room, each encroaching on the other, the chair at the end of the table knocking legs with the plush couch. There was barely enough room for someone to pick their way through the mismatched furniture the few feet that separated the front door from the bedroom.

Yet life erupted from every inch. Solids and patterned designs of every color imaginable where on the fabric of the chairs, the wood of the tables, and the flaking paint on the walls. An old piano leaned on the wall in the corner, its faded wood contrasted by the bright picture frames and pencil holders scattered haphazardly on its surface. Everything had the deep aroma of rose and mint floating about it, although it was anyone's guess how the scent had gotten there in the first place. Lamps were arranged on odd surfaces, like the kitchen table or the window ledge, and were of varying size and audacity; they had obviously been picked up for a dollar a pop at some old lady's garage sale or a small flea market. Books were tossed aside at various points, and a few plates teetered on inappropriate edges, clinging to bread crusts and orange rinds.

Leaning against one of the only clear spaces of wall, George surveyed the place contentedly, a sweet smile on his face and a large yellow mug filled to the brim with tea nestled in his hands. He had to be gone in just a few minutes, but he wanted to savor the time spent here.

Even the tea that burned his tongue as he sipped tasted different. Could tea taste carefree? Maybe it was nutmeg or something.

He hadn't had a chance to look around much the night before. The jacket and shoes lying in the middle of the room were testament to that. He hadn't been able to imagine a place that would fit Mia perfectly until now, but this had to be it. He even realized that the smell of the place was the lingering odor on her clothes, though he hadn't really noticed it before.

As if eager to prove this, Mia stumbled blearily out of the bedroom. She tripped over one of her shoes, gave a great, if slightly drunken, shout of laughter, and weaved her way more carefully over to George. The corners of her mouth turned up sleepily. She wrapped her arms around his torso and thrust her head under his arm. "Too early," she informed him, muffled by magenta robes.

George put down his mug so he could hug her closer. "Very true. Of course, complaining to the boss is out."

"I can complain to him." An eye peeked up and outwards. "Too early."

"Duly noted, angel of the apartment. I still have to leave."

Her head pulled out of its spot and her hand pulled at his neck at the same time. The next few minutes were spent very pleasantly, and without a lot talking.

George was the first to pull away. "Now, Amelia, I've got places to go and young impressionables to overcharge."

Her nose wrinkled. "That's what my dad calls me."

"That will serve my purposes quite well right now, but I'll remember that." George kissed her blue hair lightly, then let go of her. She didn't return the favor.

"Ten minutes, most heroic of men?"

"Of course, my sweet." George smirked. "But you have to tell Brenda where I've got to."

Instantly, he was released.

His smirk widened. "I'll remember this."

Mia shrugged, unfazed. "Brenda is more terrifying than my mother ever was."

"Speak for yourself."

Chuckling, Mia wandered over to the counter, where a giant loaf of French bread lay uncovered by a large knife. She reached into a cupboard with two hands and pulled them both out laden with jars. One's contents were a rich purple-red, which George could only assume was some sort of homemade jam; the other, a light tan with a nutty odor. She stuck the end of the bread in the tan substance and bit it off.

George motioned at the sticky tan nuttiness. "What is that?"

The bread dropped to the counter.

"You've never had peanut butter?"

"If that's what that is," George said, eyeing the container dubiously, "then no, my lamb, I have not."

Without further ado, Mia scooped a large hunk of peanut butter with fingers onto the bread, marched back over to George, and stuck the entire loaf into his mouth.

After a few minutes of spluttering, chewing, and frantic swallowing, George had a pretty good idea of what peanut butter tasted like. He was fairly sure he hated it, but wasn't about to tell Mia, for fear this would mean he'd have to eat more to prove it.

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"She made you walk here?"

"All the way through London in my uniform, and she was in a bathrobe."

The potion on the desk was slowly forming puffs of green smoke that billowed and evaporated. A few shriveled beans lay beside discarded knives. The high-pitched whining the potion had begun to make was being entirely ignored.

Lee shook his head in awe. "You're right, mate. She's mental."

"Yeah." George grinned. "She absolutely is. How's Katie?"

Blinking rapidly at the change is subject, Lee smiled dreamily. "Great."

Briefly, George though about taking the mickey out of him, but felt that it would be somehow unsporting. "How long until the wedding, then?"

"Three months. Her mother's been in contact." Lee's face indicated exactly how pleased this made him.

George smirked widely. "I bet she adores you. Owns a prank shop, old war vet, hob-knobbing with us Weasleys ..."

"Not to mention marrying her daughter at twenty-three." Lee definitely looked disgruntled now. "She hates my hair."

"So do I, mate, it's horrible."

Lee scowled. "Thanks."

George nodded sagely. "Always helpful, that's me. So, anything I need to know ahead of time? Best man, and all."

"Not much." Lee was lost in thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers sharply. "Right! Katie's decided to ask Mia to be maid of honor. No sisters to ask, so ..."

"Brilliant. Don't look for either of us after the toasts." Lecherous thoughts were practically radiating off George. Lee's eyes widened.

"You're mental as well, you know that? See what happens to you if Katie catches you sneaking off with Mia again."

"Why? She's my proper girlfriend now, can't see how Katie can be much fussed about it." Remembering the beans on the table, George took up a knife and began to apply the flat end of the blade to the top of one. Thick yellow juice squirted out the end and ran into a waiting flask.

Lee shrugged. "Tell her that. She's quite overprotective of Mia, if you ask me, but ... well, you tell her that. Though I don't pretend to know all about it, anyway."

The knife fell back down to the desk, unheeded. "All about what?"

"You know. The boyfriend. And she hasn't talked to her parents in nearly a year." Lee picked up his discarded knife as well and began pressing on his own bean.

George nodded. "Yeah. He's been trying to get her to go back to being an Auror in America, and she's not having any of it."

A second knife clattered against the wood. Lee's eyes were now nearly out of his head. "She really is your proper girlfriend now, eh?"

George smiled as he had that morning, standing in Mia's flat. "Yeah, she is."

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The first thing that registered in George's brain was _cold_. His entire front felt a chill, causing him to curl up in protest. He tugged blankets over his head and pressed them to his body, grumbling about warmth and summer.

Slowly, he became aware of something else. A light melody, soft and flowing, muted slightly by the bedroom wall.

He stood and walked to the door, trailing a single sheet behind him.

She didn't look quite the same, sitting at the piano. She looked peaceful, calm, content. Her eyes were closed gently, but her fingers flew, sure of themselves without the need for sight. The music flowing from the keys sounded beautiful, but a little sad and a little lost.

Feeling as though he were intruding, like catching a unicorn unawares, George backed up silently, and collapsed into her bed.

He was colder than he had ever remembered in his own flat, and that night, for the first time in years, his dreams were troubled with pictures of war, of death, and of a boy that looked exactly like him, only with two ears. All through waking and sleeping, he could hear the sad, lost, beautiful melody playing in his head.

AN: Yeah, ok, that last bit was a little emo. Whatever. If wizards had the term "emo," those two would be it. These two still have a ways to go, but not too much longer, if you catch my drift. In other words, I wouldn't count on too many more chapters. My guess? Four or five, at the most. It all depends on how things are spaced out. Love? Hate? Review!


	10. AN

AN: Ok, I'm sorry to do this, but I just want to let you know, I've been trying to write a chapter for this story. I've just come across this huge roadblock, creatively, and while I'm doing fairly well on one of my fics, it's only because I've got it planned out pretty well to the point where I'm at. Other than that, over the last few days I haven't been able to write a damn thing. It's like I've got too much creative energy, but no way of releasing it well. I'm working on the next chapter right now, and I'm trying to find my way out of this hole, so it could be up in hours or in days. Just be patient with me, because trust me, it's driving me up a wall.


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